


The Trick To Life

by KateLouisaRose



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Brief Sherlock/Molly, Canon/Alternate Canon, Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-01
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-07 01:48:00
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1114076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KateLouisaRose/pseuds/KateLouisaRose
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Individual side stories in the lead up to, during and after The Reichenbach Fall. Each chapter is based upon the songs from The Hoosiers' album The Trick To Life in order. Written before any information of Series 3 was revealed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Trick To Life

_Truth be told, the truth be told_

_I’m worried what future holds, the future holds_

_I’m starting to worry about Ray_

_They say the future’s out to get you_

_You know that I won’t let you fall_

Molly stared at the man she had loved for her entire career at St Bart’s with a sad smile on her face. His long, pale hands fiddled with the knobs on the microscope, and she observed the furrow of his brow and that familiar wrinkle between his darting silver eyes.

Sherlock sighed and pretended to be focused on his work, gazing blankly at the instruments and chemistry equipment around him while maintaining the facade of actually caring about it. He raised his head slowly and stole a cautious look at his friend. John stood with his back to Sherlock, flicking through the papers and notes with perceptible irritation. The detective returned his gaze to the microscope and closed his tired eyes, allowing the mask of concentration to slip momentarily as he thought about the inevitable end to his life as he knew it. There was a way he could survive this, long enough to grow old with John, enough of a life to live to finally be ready to let go, there just had to be. He hadn’t felt this close to someone since...well, he’d never felt this close to someone in his life.

Molly swallowed, summoning the courage to confront the imposing man seated before her. She ploughed ahead, even when he shot her down like so many times before. She knew she was helping him, Sherlock needed to hear this, and she needed to get this out. It didn’t matter that he was resisting her; all that mattered was that if she could help him, she would. Molly knew it was stupid, but she would die for this man, die for a man who could identify when two people halfway across a room were having an affair and who ate a particular biscuit with their tea, but didn’t even notice when she entered a room. Didn’t notice, or didn’t care. She was used to this, feeling like she didn’t matter. Molly had been dealing with this her whole life. Socially awkward, short, meek, quiet, everything she was distanced her from others. Jim had been the only good thing that had happened to her in a long time. He had actually made her feel good about herself, like she was needed for once, wanted even. And then he had to go and turn out not only to be gay but also to be a criminal mastermind who was never even remotely interested in her.

“...except when he thought no one could see...” She continued, glancing up at him. Sherlock flinched, dropping his eyes momentarily in realization.

 “Molly,” Sherlock warned, he didn’t want to hear what she had to say. Who could blame him? Nobody wants to hear the truth when it hurts _so_ much.

 “You’re sad, when you think he can’t see you.” She said. The words were flowing now, coming strong and true, the way she intended them, Sherlock was relenting.

Sherlock was looking at her in a different way, his eyes searching and honest, something raw and exposed about him, his eyes, so scared and hopeful; she had never seen this in him before.

“I don’t count.” She murmured, knowing it was true. She would never matter to Sherlock but John, John did. Sherlock wanted to protect him, and Molly could help.

Sherlock looked at her in shock, as if all those times he had made her feel like she wasn’t worth his time, like she didn’t mean anything to him, hadn’t imprinted on her memory and contributed to her insecurity. She babbled on incoherently, the gravity of that gaze had thrown her. Sherlock was looking increasingly confused and disorientated by her weak offer of help. He said things that she knew should hurt, not that he meant them to, but after dealing with so much of his crap over the years she had developed a thicker skin against the unintentional insults.

“If you need anything, anything at all…”

He wasn’t speaking, he wasn’t even thanking her for what she was saying. She prompted him, he said it, mechanically. He was a machine, manners didn’t come naturally to him, but neither did emotion and look where dealing with them got him. He tried to say things, to ask her something but he wasn’t ready yet, he needed time, of which he had precious little, to realize just how big a part she could play in the end. His end.

She changed the subject dejectedly. “It’s OK.” She said, walking away from the man she loved and shaking her head to herself as he stared after her incredulously. “I know you don’t.” 


End file.
